love's a state of mind
by Merida's Hair
Summary: "Cordelia is no stranger to kisses, she supposes." Foxxay. Something of a character study of Cordelia.


A/N: The original prompt (give by an anon on tumblr) for this was: "I have two prompts, is that okay? Both Foxxay, first kiss and first time (can be combined or separate whatever you choose!)"

Andthen something else happened with this fic. I think I quite like the direction it ended up going in, and I hope you do as well!

The title is from "Rhiannon" - Fleetwood Mac

* * *

Cordelia is no stranger to kisses, she supposes.

Her first was on a dare, something she still remembers with all the heated blushing her teenage incarnation was inclined to do. There was a party going on in some girl's room, and at the last second her roommate thought to invite her, teasing and prodding until Cordelia relented and sat in the circle playing around after round of truth or dare or some other game that involved stolen bottles of vodka and loud laughter, holding her arms tightly around her knees and wishing she was sound asleep. Or in the greenhouse surrounded by carnations and and aloe leaves and silence. Usually the girls were the tiniest bit wary of her company, considering her mother is the _Supreme_, and an enigmatic and slightly feared Supreme at that. But they weren't afraid of _her,_ Little Delia, hiding behind her pink carnations while others flourished with no fear of repercussion or deep roots of darkness. And as of then, Fiona hadn't shown up in nearing seven months, and so that wariness was wearing off day by day.

Emily was who she kissed–a girl with extraordinary talent in pyrokenesis and had her dark hair plaited behind her back, whom she only talked to perhaps once before–and she'd leaned in with a gentle smirk as Cordelia narrowed in on her lips, caught somewhere between the pinching lurch of sudden attraction in her stomach and all the teasing that would occur if she _didn't_ accept the dare. In the end Emily's lips were soft and sticky with lipgloss and a thrill rushed down her spine and settled in her stomach, and she wondered what her mother would do or say if she ever learned this happened.

A thought she probably shouldn't have had, because it crippled her with fear for two full nights, squeezing breath from her lungs until tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes.

* * *

On Friday nights when Myrtle would stop by the school and take her out for dinners–trying new restaurants every week and cataloguing which were the best, something that reminded her of the relationships of mothers and daughters on television Cordelia always longed for–she'd occasionally tell Cordelia of past vacations and adventures and the men she'd meet, and usually Cordelia would just nod during _those_ stories, but now the kiss was just pushing at her mind and causing her teeth to worry over her lip. Before being dropped off at Miss Robichaux's, Fiona had dragged her around the country, and the result of that was no one closer than an acquaintance met in classes. She knows a few boys in the class had caught her attention, and yes her freshmen english teacher with the soft brown curls, yes her lab partner in sophmore year biology-

Of relationships: she knows Fiona bringing in men with thick muscles, stubbly chins, and smoke reeking off of both of them, Fiona yelling at Cordelia to get back to her room. The next morning the man would be at their table, drinking coffee (and some would try just _stare_ at Cordelia and _stare and stare_ until Cordelia had to go outside to just breathe.) On those days Fiona was kind though, her own brand of smooth giddiness in her long drawn-out words, the half-smile on her face, the way she brushed back Cordelia's hair like it was an every day occurrence.

It was the only reason she ever looked forward to Fiona bringing someone home for the evening.

But herself? Why hadn't she thought about kisses before Emily and her lipgloss? When Fiona drove away from Miss Robichaux's, Cordelia breathed so deeply she thought she was dying. It turns out that was just breathing, in-out, in-out. Kissing was like breathing, but_ new._

She can imagine Fiona in the back of her mind, though, even still. Taunting with something new, a cigarette, those times she was angry and drunk and flung Cordelia against a wall with a flick of her hand.

In the end, she spent the next few months sitting next to Emily with an ever-growing crush and mustering up the courage to ask her if the kiss meant anything at all. Emily dated Alexandra, then David, then Michael, then Louise. Cordelia worked with plants and started getting interested in Coven politics, and at night lifted a pencil with her hands over and over, knowing she could probably move the table, the bed, if she allowed herself.

* * *

The next person she kissed is a gardener named Sam who brought her new flowers whenever he came out to cut the ledge. His lips were smooth and dry and his stubble stinged and his hands gripped her waist. Cordelia's lungs expanded against his chest, and she smiled against his lips. The third was Nora, from her literature class at her short stint in college. Her lips are bright red, and Cordelia found herself staring at them as she repeated lines of Tennyson. Her ears turned red and to her absolute horror, her pencil catches fire. It's the first time she's lost control of her powers in _years_, and she can hear Fiona berating her in the back of her head and perhaps her lungs cave in. They're being rushed out of the room, and all Cordelia could think about is how _stupid_ she is and then Nora is there. She grabbed Cordelia's arm and asked if she's okay, and the next thing Cordelia knows they're curled up in the lounge with a bottle of merlot and sharing their favorite poems. And kissing. Lots of kissing and breathing and hands sliding against skin.

They end up being together for nearly five months before it all fell down around them, and through a series of phonecalls and late night pondering, Cordelia ended up back at Miss Robichaux's as its headmistress, charged with the task of invigorating the Coven with new life.

She missed the school. It's really the only home she's ever known, even if the walls are cold with secrets (and death, she finds out.)

* * *

Hank was rough.

Cordelia didn't like him at first, it was true. He had a dopey smile and smelled like cheap cologne. He also was obvious, and she wasn't in the mood to meet anyone. She'd gone to meet a new potential witch, and the girl had apparently fled. Without even packing, if that wasn't strange enough. Her coven had _two_ students, and if she didn't find new witches soon, the coven would die and it would be all her fault.

And of course if anyone should be at fault it's _Fiona_, but she's willing to be her mother's scapegoat if the Coven even has a chance.

Hank was a little persistent, but eventually got the picture and left her alone. The second time she was at the bar, she had Madison Montgomery moving in the next day and she wanted a simple champagne to celebrate. And he was there. And this time, his dopey smile was sweet and the night ended with his number in her hand and floating on air the entire way back to the school.

Nan waggled her brows the moment she'd walked in and she blushed like the tomato's in her greenhouse.

Hank's kisses were rough, but his voice was sweet, his eyes were kind, his touch hesitant. She could ignore the way his kisses were more like _bites_ if she focussed on all that. His beard scratched at her chin and as he lifted her she immediately longed for the ground. But he swore he loved her.

Fiona was right, and she hates that most of all.

* * *

Misty Day's kiss is the most unexpected kiss she's ever had.

Misty crept into her heart like the sun creeps up the horizon with pinks and yellows and crisp new air. Her hand was rough with caked dirt and as Cordelia initially witnessed every stab of pain this remarkable young woman had gone through, Cordelia had rubbed her hands back and forth over the silver bands around her fingertips. She feels the flames slide up her legs from intensity of the memory, and as she breathes the flames become the warmth of Misty's swamp, her breath on Cordelia's face as she leans in.

At the time there were witch hunters loose, her mother coming and going and up to something most likely to kill them all, and the question of the new Supreme was buzzing around like a hive, so this sudden connection with Misty Day just made no sense.

They had no time. _Cordelia_ had no room left in her lungs for dreams of kissing and arms, now that her husband has betrayed her.

Now, with the Coven stable and thriving, they have time, and Cordelia can definitely lift her bed with her mind.

Misty makes her laugh.

It's actually Queenie who notices it, that she's laughing more. _(Who knew you could be fun, Delia?)_

And she makes her feel important and _wanted_. She supposed it was not unlike Hank at first, but she can't quite explain the way Misty's smiles rush through her heart, how it pounds so loudly in her ears. Misty is reverent with Cordelia's words, guards them against her chest. Misty doesn't see her fascination with plants and love of alchemy as anything useless. Whereas Cordelia has always caved in, maintained poise and worried fingers together, Misty twirls and twirls and expands and expands.

Cordelia knows it's something _new_ and gloriously alive when Misty grabs her hands and twirls her with her. Cordelia stumbles and Misty catches her, and then that causes Misty to stumble and then they're tumbling down and down, onto the floor, and still laughing and so _free_.

Misty's eyes catch hers after they get themselves together and then they're kissing.

The kiss is soft and tentative. Cordelia breathes a little bit in, exhales in something like relief. Misty's hands come up and tentatively hold her jaw. As reverently as she holds her words, brings tiny birds back to life. Maybe she's bringing Cordelia back to life, although Cordelia hadn't realized just what's dead.

A surge of energy overtakes her and she pulls Misty on top of her and slips a tongue in, her hands coming up to stroke Misty's back. And yes, yes they're kissing on the floor of the greenhouse and Cordelia can imagine all the dirt mussing her hair, and then their lips detach with something between a gasp and a moan.

And she realizes, her mother isn't anywhere close to the voice in her head. It even isn't because her mother is dead, physically. Her voice is far away where it can't hurt her, not now when Misty is looking at her with absolute wonder.

Cordelia has no idea what has just happened.

Misty is a friend, possibly the closest friend she's ever had, and there was Emily and Nora but-

She finds herself brushing Misty's hair back and Misty leans down to kiss her once again. She drowns in them, in the way Misty's hand has crept down to stroke her side, her thigh. The small noises in the back of Misty's throat are pushed out into the air when Cordelia reattaches her lips to her neck.

Except they're on the greenhouse floor and someone could walk in, so eventually they make their way to the bed.

_Cordelia_. Misty says in a loud whisper much, much and turns in Cordelia's embrace. Their noses brush together and they breathe, once, twice.

_Yes?_ Cordelia says, her thumb stroking Misty's back.

_I've never been in love before. Not romantically, or nothing. Is it supposed to feel like wanting to fly and sink all at the same time?_

She smiles. _Something like that._

No, she's no stranger to kisses, and she's so very glad she's not a stranger to Misty Day's kisses.


End file.
